


The Confidant

by Anarfea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Molly, Bisexual Sherlock, Multi, Pridelolly, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarfea/pseuds/Anarfea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly keeps people's secrets. And has some of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Confidant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Violsva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/gifts).
  * Inspired by [In Confidence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151725) by [Violsva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva). 



The Confidant

  


A holiday postcard from Florence:

All it had said was

 

       “Thank you, Miss Hooper.”

 

At least she didn’t have to worry that she was missing some code.

 

       Sherlock and his brother had a conversation before leaving the building.

       Snide and layered with double meanings.

       Molly stared after the two of them,

       Then bit her lip and covered the woman’s body.

       She left the morgue stupid and humiliated and surrounded by secrets again.

 

She had no idea when he would come back.

And she wasn’t waiting for him, or for anyone.

  


*

  


“I’ve moved on.”

She knew Greg was thinking of Sherlock,

But she was carefully keeping her gaze away from Mary.

“Have you met Molly, Mary dear?”

 

       Mary,

       Sprawled on her back like a lioness,

       Blankets tossed around her knees,

       Letting the sun catch the red and gold of her tattoo.

       Molly reached to touch it,

       Then just let her fingers hover,

       Tracing the lines in the air.

 

“Yes, er, we shared a vet, a few years ago.

How’s Artemis?”

“She died, actually. Lymphoma.”

  


*

  


“I’m not bi to be hot, you know. I just am.”

“So that means I shouldn’t ask for a threesome?”

Tom meant it as a joke,

So Molly laughed as she opened the door.

 

“Were you ever going to tell me, though?”

“I mean, I did just tell you.”

“I just thought we wouldn’t have secrets from each other.”

 

       “You’re a bit like my dad.”

       She wasn’t expecting it to work.

       She thought it hadn’t worked.

       And then he crept up behind her when she was just about to leave

       And ... it had worked.

 

Most of her secrets had been other people’s secrets too.

Surely he’d agree that was different.

  


*

  


“Tell me about your job,” said Mary.

She picked up the tiny amuse-bouche on her plate,

Tilted her head as if studying it,

Grinned at Molly and

Popped it into her mouth.

 

“I like the intellectual challenge.”

There was something else, too,

Something about how the dead didn’t mind

If she found out their secrets.

  


*

  


“Sherlock? Why are you here?”

“So I don’t waste anything.”

“Waste anything?”

“My potential. My gifts, as you put it.”

 

He watched her without saying anything.

She was thinking about drugs

And pain medication and boredom

And the idea that just watching her would help.

  


*

  


This side of Mary was all transparent enough:

Her soft breasts and stomach, her brown pubic hair,

The appendectomy scar above her right hip,

The firebird tattoo below her left.

 

But Mary’s back was not quite so straightforward:

A few pale scars Molly hadn’t asked about.

Something, somehow, didn’t fit,

No matter how much she wanted it to.

 

The lovely blue room with so much personality but no knickknacks or clutter --

Her relaxed face so expressionless that it was actually a little disturbing --

Though her chest was still moving with her breath.

 

_Damn Jim._

_Damn her paranoia._

_This wasn’t fair._

 

       “Deep breaths,” she told herself,

       Pushing her hands against her thighs.

       She was nobody.

       She was a cover story.

       He wouldn’t come after her.

 

Mary’s hand on her shoulder.

“Slow breaths, Molls. It’s okay. I’m here. Don’t think about him.”

Molly breathed quickly, audibly, not quite a gasp.

“Tea?

  


*

He kissed as if he was trying to do it right.

She kissed him back--

 

_Sherlock, I’ve wanted this for so long_

_And I want all of you_

_If you want to give me it._

 

\--And kept herself in check

Instead of opening her mouth and deepening it.

 

*

  


Mary in her head was still cinnamon and cats,

Complaints about the comments on the Guardian’s website.

 

But once you got past the bread and the blue-striped pyjamas,

She absolutely believed Mary could kill people.

 

       “Molly, it was me. I shot him.

       I didn’t want him to die, even panicking.

       But I did shoot him.”

 

She’d been right, four years ago.

She’d been _right_.

 

       “I like her,” said Sherlock. “More, now.”

       “You’re mad,” said Molly.

       “Yes,” Sherlock agreed, his half-smile matching hers.

       She thought she knew what he meant.

  


*

  


“You do still want me, then,” he whispered.

“I thought you could tell.”

 

“I thought it was all the same, you know?”

“No,” said Molly, though now her chest hurt.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or slap him again.

“I mean. Sex and --” he waved a hand “Sentiment.

Emotions don’t have to be ... sugary.”

 

       She didn’t want to ask.

       She didn’t want to be standing there, again,

       Waiting for Sherlock to humiliate her,

       Waiting to be shut out, again.

       As if being called by the wrong name wasn’t bad enough.

 

“You realized because of John.”

“John’s straight,” said Sherlock,

Which wasn’t a denial.

 

“He is vitally important, but you are -- yourself.

You know when I have secrets.

You want what I am.”

 

       “What do you need?” she asked again.

       “You.”


End file.
